Fantastic Breasts And Where To Find Them
by IWasHighWhenIWroteThis
Summary: the 1920's were a hard time for people like Newt Scamander, a man who belived himself to be a woman at hears, but trapped by his abusive drunk fiance Sinderella Pornstein. After having enough, Newt embarks on a journy to new yourk to aqquire the most fantastic pair of fake breasts and undego a magical surgery.


**FANTASTIC BREASTS**

 **AND WHERE TO FIND THEM**

 **-CHAPTER ONE-**

There was nothing about the starry sky that night to suggest that strange and sexually confusing things would soon be happening. Newt returned to a darkened loft, still stinking of bourbon from the night before. He stepped litely and tried his best to creep upstairs unnotices. He flinched along with every creak that the old steps made as he started his ascent, pausing every few seconds and listening to be sure that all was silent. Suddenly, the room flooded with light as an old oil lamp sprung to life like a small hearth. There in the study across the hall she sat. Sinderella Pornstein, Newt`s soon to be wife, drunk as ever, her panties halfway to the floor, partially explosing her cobweb ridden box, a mucas-like coating glimmering revoltingly in the lamplight, silky, but not like warm sheets, more like the cold greasy skin of a venomous frog. Venomous is just what she was, she was poison to him, wrapping her legs around him like a spider enveloping her prey every night when he returned. Tonight was different though, he could see it in her clouded drunk eyes.

"And jus' where the fuck 'ave ye been?" She slobbered taking another swig from her flask, "Out trapsing around in a dress again you dried up queer?".

Sin practically lept from her seat as she stamped up to Newt and tore the wig from his head, smearing his makeup in the process and smacking him to the floor with the steel flask she carried at all times.

"Ella, darling" Newt stuttered, "I thought this was what you wanted? Was it not you who suggested-".

"It was meant to be a joke ye bloody git!" Sin interrupted, "that's all it was ever meant to be!".

"Well something changed" Newt replied wiping the tears from his eyes, further spreading long black streaks of makeup along his face.

"The fuck it has!" Sin shouted as she grabbed Newt by the ear, "You're going to be taught a lesson you twat wannabe".

Newt screamed as he was dragged to his feet, feeling his flesh stretching, nearly being torn at the seams and the popping of his eardrums as the cartlage began to buckle under the stress.

"Ella, please!" Newt whimpered in vein, "where are you taking me!?".

"Up the stairs ye worthless pig!" Sin squealed, "And put yer wig back on, yer gonna fuck me in the arse like the fucking gentleman ye are ya fucking dick monger".

When his face met with the base of the wooden bed post, Newt immediately wished that he was still being dragged by his ears up the stairs, especially as his so called beloved was practically tearing the garments from his thin pale body and forcing his wand up her scalie dragon-like arse. Compared to her his physic was like that of a bird, fragile and hollow, and here he was being thrashed around by what was like that of an enormous swine, squeeling at the top of her lungs with every thrust. It was like having his limp fleshy wand trapped inside a garbage disposal, like hald cooked stick of spaghetti being tossed around, too limp to finally snap, yet hard enough to feel the pressure of every movement like a 2 ton weight being forced against his groin. After hours of filthy abuse, Newt thought it was finally over until he felt her meaty hands grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him back in, forcing his want against her gritty, wrinckled and bruised breasts. It was like beating his wand against two rough cantalopes. All he could think from beginning to end was just let this be over.

Newt awoke the next morning in a ball on the floor, his wig still half clinging to his scalp and the leftover makeup seeping into his eyes. He could hear his pig of a fiance downstairs in the kitchen, humming gleefully as the scent of fresh bacon and fried eggs filled the loft. She was always like this, a right fowl hag one minute, and a cheerful saint the next. It was something that Newt could no longer take, not knowing if he should embrace her or run for the hills. He glanced over at the old leather suitcase lying in the corning, more specifically thinking about it's contents in clear detail. Enough plastic breasts to to fit a small army, enchanted genitalia and a one way ticket out of london on a train bound for new york.


End file.
